On the move

People who love to cook are highly adaptable. We cook with whatever tools are available.

I've cooked off the back of a 30-some-foot sailboat during a weeklong trip on the Illinois River. I've cooked in a rental home on Cuttyhunk Island off the coast of Massachusetts, with nothing more than what we brought over on the ferry and the local catch of the day. I've caught and grilled dinner in Florida and shopped in markets in Madrid, Paris, London and Barcelona, Spain.

But the kitchen that is mine is in Erie. And it has been in boxes for months.

My own doing, mind you. But still unsettling. Even what I did have with me didn't feel right. I never seemed to have the right pot. Or utensil. Or drawer, for that matter. Even my knives were in a different spot in each kitchen and somehow, and I know this is all mental, didn't cut as well.

But now my things are in a new kitchen. All unpacked and put away. It's still not right yet because my baking, salad tossing and serving spots aren't carved out yet.

My first order of business was to remove the refrigerator and freezer doors and switch them to the other side. I don't have a clue how anyone lived in this home with the refrigerator door facing the wrong way. Bad kitchen karma.

My mixing bowls, spoons, flours and sugar need to be in my baking spot. But my newly designated mixing spot, for example, is feeling a bit off. Is that why the banana bread exploded in the oven? My feng seems flung in this kitchen.

That said, I've managed to light the Weber and grill some branzino, a new favorite despite the bones. Leftovers went into a lovely fish stew, along with some already boiled new yellow potatoes. My routine of roasting a chicken on Sunday nights has returned, with the leftovers typically becoming a chicken Caesar for a fast weeknight meal.

Most things have found a home ... for now. I have plans for new counters, cupboards and floors. Then it will be back to boxes. Anyone have a sailboat I can borrow for a week?